


Look For the Woman

by Spinning_Mouse



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hanzo gets a little tipsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8145602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_Mouse/pseuds/Spinning_Mouse
Summary: Widowmaker is sent to recruit one Hanzo Shimada for Talon





	

_Breath_

The chill of the night air, once a mere annoyance, now bit at Hanzo’s exposed skin after spending so long crouched in the same position. He ignores his discomfort, pulling his bowstring up to his cheek, noting the breeze tousling his hair and making the necessary adjustments. 

He would be glad to leave this city. Even in the short time he’d spent in Atlanta, he found the city disorganized and cramped, the people loud and invasive. There was good food, at least.

He focused on the open window across the street. The buzz of people and cars below him fade into white noise. He has watched the target for days, some crime lord whose full list of transgressions Hanzo doesn’t care to know. The man was overconfident, so sure of himself in his home that he left the curtains pulled back on his windows, giving a clear view inside his apartment. An easy shot.

Hanzo sees movement in the apartment. He waits for the man to come into full view.

_Breath._

A shot rings out. The target collapses, red splattering across the floor. Hanzo’s bow string is still pulled taunt, his arrow still nocked. 

He freezes in shock. That was his target, their death stolen from him.

_Nobody_ steals from him.

He starts running. The rooftops of Atlanta were not easy to navigate unseen, spread far apart and all set a different heights, clearly built as needed with no foresight or planning. They often sit at odd angles, trying to curve with streets too small for the traffic they carried without pushing into the backs of other buildings. 

He’d studied the area in detail before tonight, though, and had planned multiple paths of escape. He knew where he was going, and doesn’t stumble or hesitate on the way there.

His new quarry is fast. Sonic arrows gave him a glimpse, a slim figure always just out of reach, but it’s never enough for him to learn anything other than which direction to move in.

It wasn’t long before the faint trail dries up. He growls in frustration. They could have gone in almost any direction, or even dropped into the city below, just another face in the crowd. 

“Hanzo Shimada.” A woman spoke as if she were standing next to him, her voice low and thick with a heavy french accent.

Hanzo spun, his bow again pulled taunt, only to find his arrow pointed at a small device set into the wall next to him. He scans the area, trying to find even the smallest hint of the voice’s owner. 

“You won’t see me. But I see you.”

A video feed, then, or perhaps a long range scope, giving her a view of him from a distance he where he couldn’t easily see her.

“Who are you?” He demanded, not really expecting an answer. If she was looking at him through a scope, any sudden movements could get him shot. Dropping off the edge of the building would be a quick escape, but only useful if it cut him off from her sight. The edge he’d climbed up was his best bet, with a taller building rising behind it, blocking off the view from most angles. He just had to get to the edge alive.

“I am an agent of Talon.”

Years of discipline kept the surprise from showing on his face. Hanzo had heard whispers of Talon before, a terrorist organization who hoarded power and influence with no clear goals or plans to use them. He had avoided crossing paths with them so far. What could they possibly want from him? And why were they so quick to announce themselves? The woman could be lying, of course, but it didn’t seem likely. Impersonating Talon would be like signing your own death warrant. 

“We have been watching you, Mr. Shimada. Talon believes you could be useful, though after that performance, I am not so sure.” 

Hanzo bristled. “I would wager on my bow against your rifle any day.” He growls. 

“That would be the last mistake you ever made.” The dangerous tone of her voice matched his own. It took more than that to make him cower, though, and he only scoffed.

“If you are so skilled, what do your employers want with me?”

“Your skill, so I’m told.” She says with a small laugh, like she’s telling a joke. 

“What reason could I possibly have for joining your organization?” He takes a few steps back. He tries to make the movement look natural, his feet following his eyes as they scan his surroundings. 

“The Shimada’s were once a great power. Talon could restore their empire.”

Hanzo’s scathing reply dies in his throat. Something in his chest tightens, making it harder to breath. 

“Perhaps” he says, voice heavy with emotion he couldn’t quite suppress, “but at what cost?”

The woman doesn’t reply immediately. Hanzo stills. He knows she’s watching, and suddenly, he’s sure it’s through a scope, the crosshairs trained on him.

“We will give you time to think on it. Do not take too long, Mr. Shimada. Talon is not patient.”

Hanzo waits for a solid minute in the silence that follows before daring to move. He darts to the edge of the roof, making sure to pick up and crush Talon’s communication device underfoot before climbing into the alley below. 

He left the city that night, only pausing to drop into his hotel room through the window and grab the supplies he’d left there. He did not look back. 

***

He saw her first.

She was perched on the corner of a rooftop, her back to him. She made no indication that she heard his silent footsteps.

Hanzo couldn’t say what made him so sure this was the same woman. Truthfully, he wouldn’t know unless he got her to speak. She seemed more likely to fire at him than to have a conversation. Still, though he had an arrow nocked, he kept his bow pointed towards the ground.

He followed the line of her rifle. There was some event taking place behind high fences connected to an older but elegant building. Dozens of well dressed people strolled through the garden with food and drinks, tended to by human and omnic waiters.

Hanzo’s eyes flicked between the Talon assassin and the party, trying to find the pattern, the hint that would expose her target. She didn’t move or adjust her shot even the smallest fraction, which was strange considering there wasn’t a single person or omnic who stayed still. There wasn’t even any seating, though the constant flow of people in and out of the building suggested the party extended inside. 

She must be waiting for someone who hadn’t left the building yet. It seemed an ill-conceived plan to Hanzo. Not only would the kill be semi-public, giving the death a higher profile, it would bring immediate attention to it, making escape more difficult. Even if she wanted his death to make a statement, that would be accomplished by the news of his death. This was just extra theatrics. He wondered if the idea was hers, or Talons. 

She shifted. Hanzo drew up his bow in response, eyes on the crowd below. Her weapon moved by fractions, but the pattern was clear. It followed the path of a man, dark hair, dark suit. He was expressive, his hands constantly moving, showing emotion, patting someone’s shoulder, shaking hands. He had stepped straight into the thick of the crowd and never really left, perpetually surrounded by an ever changing entourage. A difficult shot.

Hanzo smirked and released his arrow. 

The target crumpled to the ground. People began screaming. The party erupted into chaos.

The assassin spun around, rifle leveled at Hanzo. A visor covering her face with multiple red scopes flicked up to her forehead, exposing her rage contorted face. He wondered if his face had worn the same expression when she had stolen his target. He wondered if she had seen it.

Her expression changed to confusion at the sight of Hanzo standing over her, bow once again aimed at the ground. It quickly switched to annoyance before settling on a cruel smirk as she stood up straight and faced him properly. She was taller than him, a fact that would have bothered him more if the rest of her appearance wasn’t so distracting. She wore a skin tight pink one piece with a neckline that plunged almost to her waist. Metal covered her boots, shoulders, and left arm. A sliver of clear material showed a suspicious purple liquid sloshing inside the device on her arm. Her features were delicate, more the features of a ballerina than a professional assassin. 

None of that is what threw him off, though. Even in the low light, her skin was wrong, the soft blue of the sky. 

Or of a frozen corpse.

“Mr. Shimada.” She hefted her rifle onto her shoulder and took a few steps closer. Metal heels clicked on the concrete. She cocked her head, still smirking. 

Hanzo’s voice failed him. He had not expected this. He had not expected her. 

“Who are you?” He finally asked.

“I told you, an agent of Talon.”

“You know that is not what I ask.”

Her smirk faded. She searched his face, though he couldn’t imagine what she hoped to find. She may have caught him off guard, but he was quick to recover. He schooled his expression into something neutral, giving her nothing.

“I am called Widowmaker. Have you made a decision, Mr. Shimada?”

He watched her face as she spoke, cold and calculating. He shook his head.

“Such beauty is wasted on the soul of a killer.”

It was her turn to be thrown off balance, looking at him in shock and confusion. She was slower to control her expression than Hanzo, but still managed it with impressive speed.

“You know that is not what I asked.” She repeated Hanzo’s words back at him in a mocking tone. He shook his head again.

“My answer to that will not change. I will not work for your organization.”

“That is a decision you will live to regret, Mr. Shimada.”

Hanzo tensed. He gripped his bow harder, ready to fight. “We will see.”

Widowmaker’s arm twitched. Her weapon had a faster rate of fire than his, too quick for him to dodge. He would need to get his first shot off before she had a chance to fire. He watched her arm, ready for the swift movement when she would swing it down, and shifted his stance just enough to ensure his aim would be true. 

That moment never came. Instead of fighting, she smiled. She stepped back until she teetered on the very edge of the roof. She brought a hand up to her mouth, blowing a kiss at Hanzo, then tipped backwards, falling off the edge.

Hanzo lunged forward, watching from the same spot she fell from. A grappling hook shot past him to another nearby roof, and he watched as she swung up in a graceful arc, landing lightly. The hook retracted and she ran, disappearing from Hanzo’s sight as she’d never been there in the first place.

Hanzo left soon after, trying to ignore his stinging pride and the heat in his face.

***

A politician in Numbani. A corrupt businessman in Hong Kong. Months marked by shared rooftops and crossed paths.

Sometimes he takes her target. Sometimes she takes his. It becomes a race, a competition to see who’s faster, more accurate. He’s always looking over his shoulder, not for the bullet in his back, but for a bullet trying to beat his arrow. He watches her frustration when he lands her marks. He sees her triumphant smiles turn to confused frowns when he doesn’t turn from her gaze. Sometimes they pass right by each other, close enough to touch. They never do, not on purpose. His hands brush against hers once. They’re cold enough to make him shiver despite the warm weather of the Mediterranean city they found themselves in.

She usually runs first. He never pursues.

***

She finds him.

His hotel room has a small porch with an amazing view of the city. He isn’t really looking, more focused on his sake burning in his throat. It’s probably why he doesn’t notice her until she’s nearly on top of him. The click of her heavy heels are like thunder in his ears then, all too familiar. He can’t tell if she dropped down behind him or simply came through his hotel room. It doesn’t really matter.

He slams his bottle on the table next to him.

“Did I miss your most recent mark? My apologies.” His words are nearly as crisp as usual. “I have been busy.”

“Busy. With this?” Widowmaker’s disdain was clear. Perhaps there was a hint of something else. Perhaps it was Hanzo’s imagination. He snorts in response. She goes silent, but doesn’t leave. Her presence is strange, with none of the heat he normally associates with people, but still real. In the quiet he can hear her slow breaths.

“What is your name?” He blurts out.

“My name? I have told you that already.” She's annoyed at his question, and a little uncertain. 

“No, not that, not your, your callsign, but your name. You’ve known mine from the beginning, but never told me yours.” He pauses, giving her a chance to answer, but she gives none. He sighs and drinks another mouthful of sake. He starts talking. He doesn’t know what prompts it, but he can’t stop. He finds himself wanting to talk to her, wanting some form of human contact. For ten years there had been nobody else he’d seen with such consistency for so long. Nobody else to talk to. 

“Have you...have you ever killed anyone who’s come back to life?”

“...What?”

Hanzo looks into the night sky, a blanket of grays and blues, the stars obscured by the city lights below. Green lights flicker at the edge of his vision. They taunt him, disappearing before his eyes can focus on them.

“Have you ever wanted them to?”

“ _What?_ ” He voice is strained and distressed, but to his surprise, not disgusted. “What are you talking about?”

Hanzo sags back into his chair. 

“I will not agree.” He says quietly, just loud enough for her to hear. “No matter how many times you ask, I will not join Talon. I have lost so much. My home, my family, my-” His voice catches. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the incoming thoughts, but it only makes them clearer.

_I have forgiven you, brother._

“All I have left,” His voice feels raw, his eyes are stinging. He takes a deep breath, fighting for what little control he has left. “Is my honor. I will not lose that so easily.”

For a moment he contemplates the bottle, and the irony of talking about honor with it in his hand, but the thought proves too difficult for his mind in its current state, so it’s summarily dismissed. 

She doesn’t respond. He wonders if she’s here to finally kill him. She offers the same deal every time, and every time he denies her. She could have her weapon aimed at him right now, ready to end his pathetic life. He should be more concerned. What would he do if she was? Would he be able to stop her? Would he even care to try?

Even now, the thought of dying like this, a drunken disheveled fool who couldn’t even put up a fight, infuriates him. It doesn’t matter what he deserves, whether he is worth it, he refuses to die like that. 

He can feel her moving behind him. He reacts, jumping up to face her, a spot of spilled sake on the ground the only sign of his altered state. There’s no sign of her anywhere in his room, so he looks up, already knowing it was too late.

She was gone.

***

It’s been weeks, and Hanzo still doesn’t know why he is here.

He was not liked, existing at the fringes of this little community his brother lived in. He ghosted through the halls, avoiding everyone as thoroughly as they avoided him. He only showed himself during missions, putting everything he had into each one, giving them the rage and strength of a dragon. He expected nothing in return. Nothing is what he got.

Genji talked to him sometimes. The omnic monk he’d befriended tried, but Hanzo rebuffed his attempts at communication. A couple of the others occasionally attempted conversation, but it always ended in awkward silence that Hanzo was eager to escape from. His brother was the only thing tying him to this place, to these people, and even that line was tenuous at best. 

He wasn’t a hero. He didn’t belong in Overwatch, and they all knew it. The worst part was, he couldn’t even disagree. 

His comm, issued to him by the ape when he first had agreed to take on missions, started beeping. He flicked it on.

“Hanzo.” 

Athena’s robotic voice greeted him. “All agents are to report to the meeting room immediately.”

Hanzo frowned. This hadn’t happened in the time he’d been at the Watchpoint. It couldn’t mean anything good.

Besides Winston, only Genji and the omnic (Zenyatta, he reminded himself) had arrived. Genji gave a two fingered salute, while Zenyatta gave a cheery little wave. Hanzo responded with a stiff nod.

The others filed in within a few minutes, each tense in their own ways. He was right then, this wasn’t usual.

The Cowboy and the Doctor were the last to arrive, signaled by the obnoxious jingling of the Cowboy’s spurs. Hanzo hadn’t even realized they were here. Both had been gone on a mission for the past week. They must have arrived last night, if the bags under their eyes were any indication. 

The Cowboy stifled a yawn, tiredness evident in his face. The Doctor looked even more worn, as if she might collapse any second. The Cowboy kept a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to a seat she dropped into with a heavy thud. 

“You’re all here. Good.” Winston adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “You all know Talon has been a serious threat to us ever since the recall. We’ve been in several altercations with them in the past, often with the same few agents.”

Torbjorn muttered something under his breath. Hanzo was close enough to hear “Reaper” sandwiched between words of a language he didn’t know. Winston ignored him and pushed forward. 

“One of these agents is the assassin known as Widowmaker.”

Hanzo froze, but nobody noticed. They were all caught up in their own tension and emotions. They’d all heard of her before.

“During their mission, McCree and Angela came across Talon trying to move an explosive. A rather large explosive. They managed to stop it, and in the process, came across Widowmaker. They- well, McCree?”

McCree’s head snapped up from where it had started to roll forward. “Wha- oh, widow, right. Well, long story short, she got cut off from her team during the fight and we managed to corner her. She might be one hell of a shot, but close combat ain’t her strong suit. We were able to contain her and bring her here.”

The doctor cleared her throat. “The situation with Widowmaker is more complicated than most Talon agents. Some of you already know this, but several years ago, she was kidnapped by talon and reconditioned as a loyal agent. Even her physiology was changed in drastic ways.”

_Reconditioned._

“Originally, she was-”

“Where?”

Every eye turned to Hanzo. He ignored them all except for the Doctor’s, his eyes boring into hers. She bristled at his expression, though he didn’t miss the hint of concern, and perhaps even fear in her eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“ _Where?_ ” He demanded again. He spent the last few months exploring this base in his spare time, navigating abandoned rooms and storage spaces. Of all the strange rooms he’d found, the rooms with broken electronics, with half torn training dummies, with boxes of scrap pieces of metal that may have had uses before rusting away underground, none of them had been cells. If there were no available holding areas, where would they put her?

It hit him. The clinic, of course. _Reconditioned_. Widowmaker was in the Doctor’s care.

Hanzo ran. He usually avoided the Doctor’s sanctuary at all costs, but he knew where it was. There was a commotion behind him, he could hear Genji yelling, but Hanzo didn’t care. He would deal with them later. 

She sat in a glass cage in the back of the Doctor’s clinic, presumably some sort of observational room. Widowmaker had been provided with the basic necessities, and now sat on a cot, nose wrinkled in distaste at a book laid open in her lap. She looked up when he entered, a sneer forming. He saw the recognition flicker in her eyes, the expression drop into one of shock, her eyes wide. 

She seemed too small, a wisp of a person without her bulky rifle and pieces of armor strapped to her body. Her hair spilled freely around her, strands falling across her face. He wasn't used to seeing it out of the usual ponytail. He had the sudden urge to brush the loose strands out of her face.

She stood as he approached, even her height lessened without her heels. 

“What is your name?”

Her face twisted, but he ignored it, not wanting to dwell on whatever emotions she struggled with.

_Reconditioned._

“Your name. You know mine, but you never told me yours. What is your name?” His hand slammed into the glass wall. Widowmaker jumped, but didn’t flinch from his gaze. “What do you think you’re doing?” The doctor was behind him, a little out of breath, and clearly furious. He could hear the others filling in after her. “Did you understand a word I just said? This won’t help, this will make it worse!”

“Brother, stop this!” One of Genji’s metal hands gripped his shoulder. Hanzo shrugged him off. He turned his head towards his brother, breaking eye contact with Widowmaker.

“Silence.”

He shifted his attention back to Widowmaker, but she wasn’t looking at his face anymore. She stared at his hand, still planted on the wall of her cage. She struggled with something, some thought, but he did not know what. The Doctor’s hands joined Genji’s on his person, but they weren’t using enough force to move him, so he continued to ignore them.

“What is your name?” He repeated, more softly than before. 

She raised her hand, agonizingly slowly, until it rested against Hanzo’s. It looked so small and delicate against his. The room behind him went silent. The hands pulling on him stilled. 

“Amélie.” She muttered, so softly he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. She met his gaze, freezing him in place.

“My name is Amélie.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first draft of this in between classes today after a conversation about it on the Mchanzo discord. I've been trying to edit it and there are still a ton of issues with it (like my inability to pick a tense), but I'm tired, so I give up. The idea for it is a really interesting concept that I didn't do justice to, but oh well.
> 
> Side note: I don't actually hate Atlanta, I just live there, lmao


End file.
